flint  fife : 

AN  ANONYMOUS  COMMUNICATION, 

READ  BEFORE  A  PUBLIC  MEETING 

OF  THE 

DIALECTIC  SOCIETY, 

UNITED  STATES  MILITARY  ACADEMY, 

MARCH  5,  1859. 


PRINTED  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  SOCIETY. 


Extract  from  the  Minutes  of  a  meeting  of  the  Dialectic  Society,  March 
12th,  1859. 

il  On  motion,  the  following  committee  was  appointed  to  have  printed  for 
the  use  of  the  Members  of  the  Society,  the  anonymous  communication 
received  on  the  occasion  of  a  Public  Meeting  March  5th,  1859. 


Cadets  NAT.  R.  CHAMBLISS. 


CHANCY  B.  REESE. 
C.  C.  PARSONS.” 


0S»  t  II 


<3  I  \ 

J 


i 

\l 

rO 


ST  P®ffl 


© 


West  Point  Life,  I  said,  should  be  the  subject  of  this  strain  ; 
Thinking  on  the  matter  long,  I  strained  my  brain  in  vain. 

I  reflected,  called  on  some  accommodating  Muse, 

Mused  in  vain,  and  found  them  all  determined  to  refuse  ; 

Chose  a  noble  patron  then,  and  made  another  move, 

Knew  our  worthy  President,  would  a  Maecenas  prove, 

Do  not  criticise  ;  you  see  this  sheet  looks  now  aghast 
At  the  array  of  beauty  where  to-night  the  “  1  Di.’  is  cast.” 


You’re,  at  first,  a  “  cit,”  you  sport  a  hat  and  standing  collar, 

Seek  along  the  paths  of  peace  the  bright,  almighty  dollar  ; 

Think  you’re  free,  but  find  you  have  a  “  governor”  absurd, 

Though  you  are  a  citizen ,  you’re  subject  to  his  word. 

Suddenly  you  feel  a  passion  rising  in  your  soul, 

A  military  ardor  which  no  one  can  control. 

You  hear  of  West  Point  School,  where  they  turn  great  warriors  out, 
Still  you  stop  and  hesitate,  on  this  Point  there’s  a  doubt. 

When  you  doze  in  bed  that  night,  you  mutter,  prate  and  prattle, 
Think  you  hear  a  uniform,  see  drums  and  wear  a  battle  ; 

Dream  of  bullet  buttons,  plumes,  of  ladies’  smiles  and  fun, 

Waking  in  the  morning,  you  are  off  to  Washington. 

With  nine  hundred  others  on  the  President  you  charge  ; 

Seeing  this  vast  number  they  say  you  apply  “  at  large.” 

Now  you  show  you’ve  many  claims  and  can’t  be  called  a  meddler, 
Prove  your  great  grandfather  once,  in  England,  whipped  a  pedler. 


P  St>944 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


4 

Your  father  lived  to  eighty-five,  like  many  other  men, 

But  having  lost  his  parents,  was  a  helpless  orphan  then. 

Your  great  great  great  grandfather  died  in  battle,  that’s  the  truth  ; 

Your  great  great  great  grandmother  lived  ten  years  without  a  tooth. 

With  many  others  back  you  come,  with  glory  unannointed, 

The  President  appoints  but  ten,  the  rest  are  dis-appointed. 

You  next  go  to  your  congressman,  who’s  honest,  true  and  just, 

He  finds  you’ll  pass,  ’tis  all  he  wants,  you’ll  not  disgrace  his  trust. 

Thinking  on  your  future  life,  you  find  your  speculations 
Interrupted  by  a  mighty  list  of  qualifications, 

You  get  a  pen  to  see  if  you  remember  how  to  write, 

A  splinter’s  in  your  thumb,  you  may  not  be  pronounced  all  right  ; 

You  have  some  corns,  and  fear  with  them  rejection  you  may  meet, 

For  many  active  soldiers  have  been  “  found”  upon  their  feet. 

How  careful  and  how  studious  we  find  the  young  expectant, 

For  fear  this  rigid  Board  will  find  a  true  bill  of  ejectment  ; 

Yet  soon  you  see  kind  sympathy  is  in  their  bosoms  stored, 

And  find  the  proverb  true,  that  11  There’s  a  soft  side  to  a  board.” 

When  landed  on  the  Point,  you  ask  a  man  where  you’ll  report, 

And,  ten  to  one,  you’ll  get  from  him  a  withering  retort, 

He’ll  say  “  Subordination,  Plebe,  of  discipline’s  the  root  ; 

Now  you’ve  addressed  an  old  Cadet,  forgetting  to  salute.” 

He  sends  you  to  a  room  and  says,  iC  Report  and  then  come  back.” 

You  enter,  and  discover  there  none  but  the  old  shoe-black  ; 

Your  father’s  with  you  all  the  time — he  here  begins  to  croak — 

And,  judging  from  his  countenance,  he  doesn’t  like  the  joke. 

You  wander  like  Telemachus — at  last  you  find  the  place, 

And  see  the  dread  Instructor  ;  Yes  !  you  meet  him  face  to  face  ; 

He  cries,  “  Now  stand,  attention  ;  put  your  hands  close  by  your  pants, 
And  stand  erect,  hold  up  your  head.  There  !  steady  !  don’t  advance  ! 
Turn  your  toes  still  farther  out,  and  look  straight  to  the  front, 

Draw  in  your  chin,  throw  out  your  chest.  There  !  steady  !  don’t  you  grunt !” 
You  hold  your  head  so  high  that  the  instructor’s  lost  to  view, 


WEST  POINT  LIFE.  5 

And  looking  at  your  father,  there  he  “  stands  attention,”  too. 

Says  th’  instructor  11  Where’s  my  pen  ?  This  old  one  does  not  suit  me.” 
11  There  it  is,  sir.”  u  Hold  your  tongue  !  you  must  not  talk  on  duty. 

I’m  not  surprised  to  see  you  quail,  and  flutter  like  a  partridge, 

But  soldiers’  mouths  must  open  only  when  they  tear  a  cartridge  !” 

He  asks  you  if  you’ve  brought  along  the  articles  marked  thus,  (*) 

And  when  he  finds  you  haven’t,  raises  quite  a  little  fuss. 

He  wants  to  know  all  things  you’ve  brought,  your  clothes  of  every  kind, 
You  think  the  gentleman’s  endowed  with  an  enquiring  mind. 

You  get  a  broom,  some  matches,  and  a  bed  made  up  of  patches, 

Though  little  did  you  think  such  schools  could  ever  have  their  matches ; 
You  know  where  “  matches  all  are  made,”  and  give  a  knowing  sneer — 
From  what  you’ve  seen,  you  think  that  place  is  very  far  from  here. 

A  comforter  you  also  get,  the  thing  that  most  you  need, 

A  comforter!  !  It’s  one  of  Job’s  ;  a  sorry  one  indeed. 

“  On  your  return,  report  yourself,”  they  earnestly  exhort  you. 

Report  yourself !  !  !  when  twenty  men  are  eager  to  report  you ! 

You’re  now  assigned  to  quarters — there  deposit  bed  and  broom, 

And  though  in  want  of  shelter,  wish  for  you  there  was  no  room. 

Are  these  the  luxuries  on  which  our  senators  agree  ? 

You  do  not  fancy  this  “  hot-bed  of  aristocracy.” 

The  drill-drum  beats,  so  does  your  heart/ and  down  the  stairs  you  scud, 
You  slip  before  you  reach  the  ranks,  fall  full  length  in  the  mud. 

Here  you  have  met  your  first  reverse,  and  give  a  ghastly  grin  ; 

You  think  your  district  now  could  say,  “  Our  candidate’s  got  in” 

All  over  mud,  you  now  demand  a  suit  in  your  distress, 

But  find  for  all  such  slight  mishaps  they  give  you  no  re-dress. 

How  strange  you  think  it  when,  next  night,  reported  you  have  been, 

In  spite  of  all  your  efforts,  for  neglectirlg  to  u  fall  in.” 

The  food  you  say  is  scanty,  and  you  do  not  like  the  stuff ; 

Though  there’s  a  hen  for  each  of  you,  you  never  get  un  ceuf ,  (enough.) 

A  graduating  man  sees  you,  some  sidelong  glances  throws, 

Thinks  he  would  like  to  trade  his  matress  for  your  suit  of  clothes. 


6  WEST  POINT  LIFE. 

He  says,  when  coming  up  to  you,  all  buttoned  to  the  throat, 

“  Has  any  one  said  anything  to  you  about  your  coat  V* 

Mistaking  him,  you  say,  “  Some  old  Cadets,  whose  jokes  were  stale, 
Cried  after  me,  when  passing  by.  ‘  Just  see  that  Shanghai  tail  V  ” 

At  last  you  get  the  matress,  and  remove  it  with  hard  tugs  ; 

Republicans  are  right  who  say  that  here  you  find  big  bugs. 

While  reading  in  your  room,  absorbed  in  prison  discipline, 

You  suddenly  hear  some  one  knock — -jump  up,  and  cry,  11  Come  in.” 
You  find  your  dread  instructor  is  already  in  the  door, 

He  says,  “  Did  you  give  that  command  to  your  superior  V* 

You  ask  to  be  forgiven,  say  you’ll  never  do  so  more, 

You  didn’t  yet  know  all  the  “  rules  and  articles  of  war.” 

Next  day  they  march  you  into  camp.  How  pretty  it  does  look  ! 

That  you  fare  the  better,  you  have  brought  a  cookery  book, 

You  get  in  camp,  an  old  cadet  cries,  11  Come,  put  up  this  tent !” 

And  with  the  aid  he  renders  you,  you’re  very  well  content. 

You  thank  him,  take  possession  ;  when  you  find  that  all  is  done, 

He  coolly  tells  you,  “Plebe,  it’s  mine  ;  go  get  some  other  one, 

What  you  have  done  is  only  play  ;  Plebes  must  make  some  mistakes.” 
Foul  play,  you  think  it  is,  in  which  you’ve  put  up  all  the  stakes. 

To  hoist  another  for  yourself  your  efforts  now  are  bent, 

On  studying  the  art  of  war  you  find  yourself  in-tent. 

You’ve  brought  some  dozen  suits  of  clothes,  but  give  a  solemn  look, 

To  find  the  space  assigned  to  them  is  but  a  cubic  foot. 

Never  mind,  you’ll  soon  be  great,  take  Cuba,  end  your  trials, 

Then,  instead  of  cubic  feet,  you’ll  have  some  Cubic  miles. 

Now  come  drills,  those  long  squad  drills,  upon  the  scorching  plain, 

Like  people  in  the  desert  wilds,  your  only  hope  is  rain. 

Sand  gets  in  your  shoes,  and  rubs  and  burns  like  lighted  candles, 
Wonder  why  the  people  in  such  soil  do  not  wear  sandals. 

Though  drums  disturb  you  every  hour,  you  utter  not  a  word, 

But  think  how  happy  Sir  John  Moore  when  “  Not  a  drum  was  heard.” 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


7 

You  probably  are  six  feet  high,  some  officer  you  dread 
Arrests  you  at  the  break  of  day  for  lying  long  in  bed. 

Your  coat  is  made,  you  button  it,  give  one  spasmodic  cough, 

And  do  not  draw  another  breath  until  you  take  it  off. 

You’ve  heard  of  senators  who  make  a  speech  up  in  great  haste, 

And  long  for  what  they  mention,  the  Cadet’s  small  “  wasp-like  waist.” 
How  singular  the  conduct  of  these  wisdom  bearing  herds 
If  waists  are  to  be  laughed  at,  it  should  be  their  waste  of  words. 

July  the  Fourth  at  last  arrives — you  think  it  rather  hard — 

When  on  this  day  of  Liberty,  the  “  Plebes  ”  must  go  on  guard. 

You  go  on  post,  the  night  arrives,  you  scarcely  are  alive, 

But  still  a  lonely  watch  you’re  keeping  down  on  11  No.  5.” 

First  you  like  this  quiet  post,  the  path’s  so  nicely  leveled  ; 

Soon  you  share  the  fate  of  ham — that  is,  you’re  nicely  11  deviled.” 

Bodies  vast  of  men  approach,  and  sound  their  rude  alarms  ; 

From  divers  punches  you  receive,  you  find  they  all  have  arms. 

Baggage  wagons,  ropes  and  ghosts  upon  your  post  appear, 

Teeth  begin  to  chatter,  though,  of  course,  it’s  not  through  fear. 

A  spirit  white  you  seize  upon  and  hold  it  on  your  post 
Until  the  corporal  arrives,  when  you  give  up  the  ghost. 

When  in  a  one-wheeled  cart  you  fall,  that’s  moving  up  behind, 

To  rapidly  desert  your  post  you’re  forcibly  inclined. 

A  storm  comes  up,  the  rain  comes  down  and  soaks  your  thin,  white  pants, 
You  think  they  might  find  better  work  for  “  tender  hot-house  plants.” 

Now  if  your  pants  were  made  of  cloth  you  wouldn’t  care  a  shilling  ; 

But,  like  your  summer  afternoons,  they’re  all  made  up  of  drilling . 

Then  you  say  you  shall  resign — your  father  says  you  shan’t, 

You’ve  entered  once  the  tented  field  and  never  shall  decamp. 

Resolving  then  to  be  content,  there’s  no  more  hesitation — 

You  find  most  satisfaction  in  this  kind  of  resignation  ; 

Spartan-like,  you  stay  until  encampment  has  an  end, 

In  this  period  you  find  your  times  begin  to  mend. 

When  in  the  art  of  soldiery  you’ve  once  become  adepts, 


8 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


You  welcome  with  a  joyous  smile  the  coming  of  the  “  Seps.” 

Those  that  come  before  the  time  are  pre-cepts  for  the  rest, 

Who  wait  outside  till  camp  breaks  up,  and  think  the  barracks  best. 

The  first  who  come  walk  into  camp  with  quite  a  lordly  step, 

For  where  is  found  more  dignity  than  in  an  August  11  Sep.”  ? 

The  noted  “  Twenty -ninth  ”  arrives  and  crowds  of  folks  attend, 

For  camp,  like  all  things,  save  a  hoop,  you  find  must  have  an  end. 

Our  honored  General-in-Chief  is  there  to  see  the  sights, 

Whose  valiant  arm  so  often  won  the  victory  in  our  fights. 

Some  drummers  come,  all  armed  with  sticks,  you  know  there’ll  be  a  fray, 
They’ve  come  to  “  beat  the  General,”  you  plainly  hear  them  say. 

Base  cowards  !  you  think,  thus  to  attack  a  man  of  such  great  fame, 

You’ll  go  and  warn  him  of  their  threat,  immortalize  your  name. 

Running  through  the  crowd  in  breathless  haste,  at  last  you  meet  him, 
Whisper  there’s  a  mutiny,  some  men  have  come  to  beat  him. 

He  thinks  you  joke.  Bad  joke,  says  you,  that’s  given  you  such  bother. 
Pats  your  head  and  says  “  You’ll  be  a  man  before  your  mother.” 

Camp’s  broken  up,  you’re  broken  down,  you’ve  come  to  the  belief 
You’d  like  to  always  be  on  guard,  for  there  is  a  relief. 

Filled  with  joys  of  barrack  life,  a  letter  home  you  send, 

Soon  you  find  11  Of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end.” 

Much  study,  too,  you  must  admit,  when  starting  out  afresh, 

Although  you  call  it  “  boning,”  is  quite  weary  to  the  flesh. 

You  meet  new  hardships  every  day,  yourself  you  are  beside, 

You  get  a  problem  in  11  Descriptive  ”  which  you  can’t  describe. 

You  go  to  fencing,  and  we’d  think,  from  punches,  wounds  and  scars, 

That  you  could  kill  as  many  men  as  can  the  Erie  cars. 

That  this  will  be  no  use  to  you,  you  often  make  complaint, 

Save  at  examination,  when  you  want  to  try  a  feint. 

Or  when  you  try  to  “  bugle  it  ”  he  will  not  wait  on  Benz, 

You  look  at  your  instructor,  and  would  like  to  take  offence ,  (a  fence.) 

They  put  you  in  the  “  Nursery,”  that  is  in  Company  “  B,” 

In  January,  many  children  foundlings  prove  to  be. 


WEST  POINT  LIFE.  9 

Those  who  leave,  excuses  make,  and  one  will  say,  though  smarter 
Than  half  the  fellows  in  his  class,  they  did  not  make  him  marker. 

Others  say  the  board’s  too  high,  take  vessels  in  the  offing, 

Cruise  in  the  Gulf,  since  men-of-war  are  boarded  there  for  nothing. 

You  weather  through  the  year,  and  find  that  June’s  not  very  far, 

Which  finally  arrives,  and  you  a  “  Plebe  ”  no  longer  are. 

To  leave  your  gloomy  barrack  rooms  you’re  summoned  by  the  drum, 

And  many  hearts  beat  high  to  think  Third  Class  encampment’s  come, 

When  you  find  you  all  are  men,  and  are  no  longer  babies, 

Think  you  must  devote  your  whole  attention  to  the  ladies. 

Go  to  hops,  those  charming  hops,  where  all  is  so  exciting, 

Sashes  red,  and  buttons  bright,  black  eyes  that  shoot  forth  lightning. 

As  thus  you  pass  your  life  away,  of  death  you’ve  not  a  fear, 

Though  every  one  should  surely  know  ’tis  hops  that  fill  the  bier. 

You  give  a  girl  your  buttons,  lace,  at  last  you  throw  your  heart  in, 

You  little  think  what  flames  will  rise  when  first  you  go  out  sparkin’. 

An  angel  dressed  in  crinoline  you  to  her  side  now  becks, 

As  she  must  still  remain  “  unknown,”  we’ll  have  to  call  her  “X.” 

She  occupies  one-half  the  room,  the  space  is  more  than  fair, 

If  radius  we  call  large  R,  the  area’s  tt  Ra 

The  rustle  of  her  dress  alone  would  charm  ten  thousand  troops, 

Much  pleasanter  the  sound  than  that  of  wild  Camanche  whoops. 

You  blush  whene’er  “X”  looks  at  you  from  out  that  mass  of  lace, 

Which  proves  that  “X”  must  enter  the  “expression”  of  you  face. 

The  music  starts,  you  gently  take  her  in  your  arms.  What  bliss  ! 

You  now  can  say  you  have  your  “X”  in  a  parenthesis. 

“  Faster  still,”  she  whispers,  though  you’re  giddy  and  half  sick, 

Your  heart  which  once  kept  “common  time,”  now  moves  at  “  double  quick.” 
Faster  yet  you’re  going  round,  ten  “  X’s”  now  you  see, 

She  hugs  you  with  her  sleeveless  arms  till  you  cry  “  Bare  with  me.” 

To  get  yourself  from  her  embrace  you’d  now  give  fifty  farms, 

Says  she  “Since  you’re  a  soldier,  you  shall  have,  Sir,  two  bare  arms ”  (to 
bear  arms). 

Your  head’s  becoming  dizzier  you  stagger  a  good  deal, 


10 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


Arid  what  was  started  as  a  waltz  is  ending  in  a  reel. 

Sash  comes  down,  she  steps  on  it,  to  fall  is  now  your  doom. 

And  knock  down  nine  militia  generals  standing  in  the  room. 

By  deafening  sounds  of  drums  the  hour  of  ten  is  intimated, 

All  rush  madly  from  the  room,  “X”  is  “eliminated.” 

To  marry  her  you’re  half  inclined,  “Shall  you  not  or  shall  you?” 
Half  the  night  you  lie  awake  discussing  “  X’s”  value. 

Next  day  you  take  a  walk  with  her  around  the  famed  “  Flirtation,” 
Find  her  all  false  hair,  false  teeth,  false  smiles,  and  affectation. 

That  she  may  have  an  honest  heart  is  still  your  earnest  prayer, 

But  soon  you  find  the  heart  no  better  than  the  teeth  and  hair. 

While  swearing  that  you  love  her,  and  appreciate  her  charms, 

You  tell  her  you’re  a  soldier,  she  says  “But  a  child  in  arms.” 

Others  come,  and  better  ones,  who  stop  at  the  hotel, 

Oh !  what  a  tale  of  broken  hearts  that  old  north  stoop  could  tell ! 
Then  come  little  presents  of  a  kerchief,  ribbons,  gloves, 

And  what  is  prized  above  the  rest,  they  often  give  their  loves. 

Some  who  sew  on  handkerchiefs,  what  shall  we  say  of  them  ? 

When  questioned  what  they’re  working  at  will  simply  say  “  A-hem” 

Another  “Twenty-ninth”  arrives,  the  camp  again  is  struck, 

This  time  you  go  out  quietly,  and  have  much  better  luck. 

To  breaking  up  the  scenes  of  camp  you’ve  serious  objections, 

For  ladies,  hops,  “Flirtation”  walks,  give  place  to  conic  sections. 
Troubles  do  not  leave  you  here,  you  must  have  some,  of  course, 
Strange  as  you  may  think  it,  you  must  learn  to  ride  a  horse. 

You  have  read  of  bold  dragoons  that  every  danger  scoff, 

Stories  do  not  speak,  alas !  of  troopers  falling  off. 

Nothing  on  your  feet  but  shoes,  the  horses  bare-backed  all, 

IIow  will  ever  you  obey  the  “ Boots  and  Saddle  call?” 

Many  books  have  you  toiled  through,  all  written  by  great  sages, 

Do  not  you  deserve  a  pair,  if  spurs  are  won  by  pages? 

Now  you  “  stand  to  horse.”  and  say  you’ll  not  get  in  a  fright, 

Still  you  ask  a  soldier  if  he  thinks  your  horse  will  bite. 

Then  you  mount,  a  thing  that  you  before  have  never  tried, 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


11 


Make  a  miglity  effort — landing  on  the  other  side. 

Finally  you  get  your  seat,  the  other  troopers  follow, 

Horse’s  hack ’s  a  catenary,  you  are  in  the  hollow. 

When  seated  in  this  valley,  the  instructor’s  heard  to  say, 

Like  Joseph  to  his  brethren,  “Do  not  fall  out,  by  the  way.” 

Horses  move,  the  riders  too,  and  things  look  queer  to  you, 

Seldom  have  you  seen  the  world  from  such  a  point  of  view. 

And  when  your  horse  begins  to  trot,  you  think  he’s  not  so  tame, 
You’re  not  much  of  a  rider,  but  a  good  boy  in  the  mane. 

Reaching  back,  you  make  a  grab,  and  clinch  with  every  nail, 

Think  you’d  be  relieved  to  have  the  burden  of  his  tail. 

Speed  increases,  though  you  pull,  they  say  “  It’s  all  your  fault,  Sir!” 
Can’t  call  this  a  bridle  tour,  before  you  is  the  (h)aller. 

Your  instructor  sees  you  bounce,  until  your  cheeks  look  floppy, 
Thinks  you’ve  ridden  on  the  course,  how  nicely  you  can  “jockey.” 
Looking  round,  you  see  your  friends  are  now  disposed  to  banter, 
Think  you’ll  get  auother  horse,  yours  doesn’t  pace  nor  canter. 
Suddenly  he  takes  the  gallop  ;  horrors  ! !  !  what  a  motion  ! 

Movement  comes  from  front  to  rear  like  waves  upon  the  ocean. 

Soon  you’re  told  he  gallops  wrong,  to  make  him  change  the  step, 
Teach  him  then  as  you’ve  been  taught,  by  loudly  crying  “  Hep  !” 

All  your  efforts  are  in  vain,  and  forth  your  mutterings  burst, 

Still  looking  out  for  “  No.  1,”  he  “  puts  his  best  foot  first,” 

And  by  using  gentle  means  his  favor  can’t  be  courted, 

Wonder  why,  instead  of  you,  the  horse  is  not  reported. 

Getting  sea  sick,  now  you  roll  from  one  side  to  the  other, 

How  you  wish  you’d  never  left  the  fire- side  of  your  mother. 

A  whip  is  cracked,  the  horse’s  head  goes  down,  and  you  go  up, 

And  from  the  rate  of  travel  think  that  in  the  skies  you’ll  sup. 

Up  you  go  till  near  the  roof,  but  do  not  reach  the  skies, 

Think  you  are  an  aeronaut,  but  surely  are  not  Wise. 

What  goes  up  comes  down  again,  and  you  with  looks  not  placid, 

Are  making  crude  experiments  in  tasting  tannic  acid. 

A  spring  some  call  this,  some  a  fall ,  and  some  a  summer- set, 


12  WEST  POINT  LIFE. 

A  seasonable  joke  is  heard  to  come  from  each  cadet. 

Limping  out,  you  start  for  home,  and  think  you’ve  earned  your  salary, 
Meet  with  sympathizing  looks  from  ladies  in  the  gallery. 

With  your  lady  friends  up  there  you’ve  fallen  half  in  love, 

All  cadets  have  learned  to  set  their  hearts  on  “things  above.” 

To  take  a  gallop  in  the  hall  again  you  would  not  dare, 

Although  you  would  not  hesitate  to  take  a  gal  up  there. 

Some  will  say  that  riding’s  fun,  such  views  you  can’t  endorse, 

Say  you’ll  never  ride  again  save  on  a  hobby  horse. 

Now  you  think  of  other  things,  for  home  you  soon  will  go. 

That  period  of  bliss  to  spend  that’s  called  Cadet  furlough. 

Furlough  clothes  you  then  get  on,  demerit  you  get  off, 

Donning  thus  a  suit  of  blue,  the  gray  you  gladly  doff. 

When  you’ve  reached  the  city,  and  arrived  at  your  hotel, 

Heedless  of  expenses,  you  are  bound  to  “cut  a  swell.” 

See  a  class-mate  followed  round  by  boys,  at  least  a  score, 

Say  he  shan’t  surpass  you,  so  you  hire  twenty  more. 

If  his  train  of  little  boys  has  each  a  dirty  face, 

Make  your  own  roll  in  the  mud,  determined  to  keep  pace. 

Though  you  know  your  leave  is  not  to  leave  the  States,  you  do, 
Heedless  of  the  consequences,  Jersey  you  pass  through. 

Hurrying  along  as  happy  as  a  man  can  be, 

Never  do  you  stop  until  your  cherished  home  you  see. 

Home  !  the  dear  old  place  whence  all  your  boyish  pleasures  came, 

Who  is  there  so  base  as  not  to  bless  the  sacred  name  ? 

When,  at  last,  you  enter,  and  are  by  the  family  met. 

With  kisses,  sobs,  embraces,  smiles  you’re  instantly  beset. 

Now  you  first  appreciate  this  serving  Uncle  Fam, 

Urchins  in  the  street  all  cry  “  Oh  !  there’s  a  soger  man.” 

Meeting  some  old  fogy  friends,  they  say  “  Why,  how  d’ye  do  ? 

Tell  us  how  at  Western  P’int  they  put  you  fellers  through.” 

“  Well,”  you  say,  “  it  is  but  right  that  of  it  I  should  speak, 

Laboring  both  day  and  night  we  eat  but  once  a  week. 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


13 

Then  the  fare  at  mess  is  such,  that  when  we  get  our  share, 

Cattle  could  not  eat  it,  you  can  scarcely  call  it  fair. 

They  load  us  in  a  cannon  if  in  ranks  we  do  hut  cough, 

Sayihg  when  they  light  the  match  ‘  This  time  we’ll  let  you  off?  ” 

Thinking  you’re  from  Utah,  an  old  lady  at  you  sings, 

“  Were  you  badly  wounded  at  the  fight  at  Eutaw  Springs  ?” 

Ladies  make  large  parties,  each  an  invitation  sends, 

You’re  engaged  to  twenty-seven  when  the  summer  ends. 

Just  before  you  leave,  the  twenty-seven  round  you  close, 

Begging  for  a  lock  of  hair,  a  button  off  your  clothes. 

What  a  fright !  I !  You’ve  yielded  to  the  charming  twenty-seven, 
Buttonless  your  coat,  no  hair  between  your  head  and  heaven. 

Coat  is  ruined,  buttons  gone,  no  matter,  let  it  pass, 

Never  were  there  women  seen  with  such  supplies  of  brass. 

Furlough  now  is  nearly  gone,  and  back  you  take  your  way, 

Feeling  that  to  melancholy  you’ve  become  a  prey. 

Furlough  time  is  soon  forgot,  that  life  of  wild  romance, 

Though  often  do  you  feel  for  missing  pockets  in  your  pants. 

Painting  now  you  undertake,  although  in  fifty  cases 
Your  instructor  asks  you  why  you  will  paint  female  faces. 

When  you  ask  what  paints  to  use,  with  countenance  growing  sadder, 
Though  he  sees  you  now  are  mad,  he  tells  you  to  get  madder . 

Y ou  give  your  brush  a  dab  in  any  color  you  can  find, 

Destroying  both  your  piece  of  painting  and  your  peace  of  mind. 

Now  you  find  astronomy  included  in  your  course, 

Though  it’s  of  the  greatest  use,  of  trouble  it’s  the  source. 

Here  you  learn  a  thousand  things  unknown  in  the  past, 

Thought  the  Earth  went  slowly  round,  but  now  you  find  it’s  fast. 

Though  there  ’re  mountains  in  the  moon,  of  trees  there’s  not  a  mark, 

Save  when  dogs  look  at  it,  when  we  often  notice  bark. 

Soon,  alas !  you  feel  within  you  all  your  former  dread, 

When  you’re  told  that  with  your  sabre  you  must  cut  a  head. 

Others  cut  at  those  on  posts,  that  fall  without  a  groan, 

You,  who  scorn  such  artifice,  would  rather  cut  your  own. 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


14 


Making  once  a  mighty  cut,  you  pay  for  it  quite  dear, 

Horse  and  you  both  tumble  down,  though  holding  by  his  ear. 
When  you  rise  you  find  that  this  is  rather  a  bad  throw, 

Limping  from  the  hall,  to  the  hospital  you  must  go. 

Though  such  hospital- ity  you  hate,  you  have  to  try  it, 

Saying  you  can’t  live  it  through,  they  tell  you  you  must  diet. 

Here  you  stay  till  muster  day,  with  many  others  clustered, 
Matrons,  stewards,  attendants,  like  your  blisters  then  are  mustered. 

Soon  you’re  out,  for  wounds  like  these  cannot  your  ardor  damp, 
Then  we  find  you  entering  the  famous  First  Class  Camp. 

Last  encampment !  what  a  sound  !  there’s  magic  in  the  word  ! 

But  you’re  now  so  dignified  rejoicing  were  absurd. 

You  become  a  creature  who  must  henceforth  be  a  star, 

Not  approached  by  common  men,  but  gazed  at  from  afar. 
Knowledge  vast  is  in  your  brain,  you  know  what  “ enfilade”  is, 
How  to  get  ten  11  lates  ”  a  day,  and  how  to  please  the  ladies. 

First  Class  Camp,  that  trying  time  !  you  scarcely  would  believe  it, 
He’s  indeed  a  lucky  man  who  unengaged  can  leave  it. 

Soon  you’re  smitten  with  a  face,  for  you  now  comes  the  rub, 

How  you  wish  a  month  before  you’d  joined  the  “  Bachelor  Club.” 
Graceful  form,  coquettish  smiles,  she  cannot  help  exposing. 

Do  not  think  I  mean  to  joke  by  saying  she’s  imposing. 

She  swears  by  all  the  gods  of  love  she’ll  smile  on  none  but  you, 
Say  all  this  in  innocence,  which  in-no-sense  is  true. 

Soon  she  leaves  ;  with  tearful  eyes  you  see  her  to  the  carriage, 
Looking  in  the  “  Herald,”  two  weeks  after,  there’s  her  marriage. 

Finally  the  camp  breaks  up  ;  you  say  farewell  to  tents, 

Leaving  such  a  dwelling-house  no  soldier  e’er  repents. 

Barrack  life  again  commenced,  you  exercise  your  skill, 

In  finding  out  the  surest  means  your  fellow  men  to  kill. 

Treat  a  foe  humanely,  you  are  told,  though  try  to  beat, 

If  to  treat  he  should  refuse,  you  never  must  re  treat. 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


15 


What  a  sight,  from  stooping  over  desks,  you  now  present  ! 

You,  who  once  were  so  erect,  are  now  on  study  bent , 

Soon'  a  longing  for  excitement  in  your  bosom  dwells, 

Think  you’d  like  to  “  run  it,”  so  you  take  a  trip  to  “  Spell’s.” 

You  suppose  there’s  little  danger,  that  the  road  is  clear, 

Till  you  meet  an  officer  ;  there’s  then  some  cause  for  fear. 

He  seizes  you,  you  lose  all  power,  and  stand  fixed  to  the  ground, 

He  asks  you  what  you’re  doing  there,  you  tell  him  you’re  Spell-bound. 

Home  you  go,  for  on  this  subject  no  more  hints  you  need, 

Punishment  you  know  will  follow  closely  on  the  deed. 

Anxious  thoughts  are  soon  dispelled ,  and  now  you  change  your  tune, 
Thinking  only  of  the  fact,  “  You’ll  graduate  in  June.” 

You  get  measured  for  your  clothes,  a  bran  new  uniform, 

Three  times  a  day  you  try  it  on,  evening,  noon  and  morn. 

You  get  a  regulation  hat,  a  sabre,  too,  and  belt, 

The  hat  you  find  is  like  the  want  of  beauty  in  it  —felt, 

One  regret  you  deeply  feel,  you  still  have  no  moustache, 

|  Though  on  your  upper  lip  you’ve  used  ’most  every  kind  of  trash. 

Some  friends  pronounced  tricopherous  the  best  they  ever  saw, 

You  seize  upon  it  like  a  drowning  man  upon  a  straw. 

The  last  three  months  seem  like  a  year,  how  slowly  time  does  fly  ! 

You  find  it  only  April  when  it  ought  to  be  July. 

June,  at  last,  arrives,  which  is  to  end  your  labors  here, 

You’re  to  get  a  “  parchment,”  of  all  things  to  you  most  dear. 

The  Board  will  rise  ’midst  banners,  flags,  and  your  diplomas  hand  ye, 

With  “  Hail  Columbia,”  “  Auld  Lang  Syne,”  and  “  Yankee  Doodle  Dandy.” 
Joy  intoxicates  you,  all  your  sorrows  now  have  fled, 

Scarcely  do  you  know  if  you  are  on  your  heels  or  head. 

The  day  arrives  which  has  so  often  many  happy  made, 

When  you  put  on  your  “  fixings  ”  to  attend  your  last  parade. 

How  proud  you  feel  when  marching  to  the  11  Sergeant  Dashing  White,” 


16 


WEST  POINT  LIFE. 


Returning  on  your  “  winding  way,”  you're  prouder  still  that  night. 
You  say  to  all  your  friends  from  whom  yourself  you  now  must  tear, 
If  of  your  home  they  come  within  two  miles,  they  must  stop  there. 
A  parting  word,  a  warm  embrace  you  give  to  each  class-mate, 

And  bid  the  Point  a  long  farewell,  a  happy  GRADUATE. 


